


Small Changes

by LamiaCalls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon, fraught relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/pseuds/LamiaCalls
Summary: Andromeda and Narcissa haven't seen each other in over a decade. But, with their sister Bellatrix dead, it's time to come back together again.Can they repair what is broken between them?
Relationships: Narcissa Black Malfoy & Andromeda Black Tonks
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28
Collections: Gen Freeform Exchange2020





	Small Changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrohir podfic (elrohir)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrohir/gifts).



Narcissa almost snapped her compact in half when the bell chimed. With a deep breath, she set the gilded compact down on the vanity. There was only one person scheduled to be arriving in their fireplace that day, and the bell meant that they were twenty minutes early. Of course, how had she forgotten about her sister’s unending need to be unfashionably early for everything?

Narcissa took one last look in the mirror before peeling herself away. Her chest was tight as she hurried down the stairs, but she remembered to breathe, to relax her shoulders and jaw, to sweep away all the tell-tale signs of fear like they were house elves being shooed out of sight.

It became that much harder when she saw Andromeda standing just outside the fireplace, brushing soot off of her robe.

She must have heard Narcissa’s heels clicking on the marble floors, but she hadn’t looked up, not yet.

“Andromeda,” Narcissa said carefully, ensuring that _Andy_ didn’t slip out instead, though it licked like flames up her throat. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

Andromeda stopped brushing, and flicked her eyes up at her. She surveyed Narcissa. That was Andromeda all over; so collected and unflappable. It had always marked her as different when they were growing up. Bellatrix, wild and unruly and yet so eager to please their father always; Narcissa, timid and submissive and yet quietly passionate when no one was looking. And Andromeda, who was neither of those things. She had been self-assured and self-confident and eschewed their families traditions easily.

There were too many years to count between them, like the lines on their faces, soft and tissue-paper compared to the pink and pertness of youth that had consumed them the last time it had just been the two of them in one room.

“I was surprised to be invited,” Andromeda said. She looked around the room. “How long since I was last here?”

“I think — I think you came just after Draco was born, didn’t you?”

Andromeda pursed her lips.

“That sounds right. Didn’t he cry terribly whenever I held him?”

Narcissa smiled. “Probably. He wasn’t much keen on anyone but Lucius and I. I think you told me that we were coddling the child, that he’d turn out rotten unless we held back.”

“Was I right?” Andromeda said.

Narcissa bit down on her lip from replying too quickly. Took a breath. This was her sister, not her enemy. She hadn’t brought her to fight.

“No, I don’t think so,” Narcissa said. She waved a hand. “Lucius might disagree.”

There was something in in the arch of her Andromeda’s eyebrow that brought Narcissa back to the many times when they were but girls and Andromeda would make small jokes at Lucius’ expense. Jokes that rang true with Andromeda’s feelings; that Lucius was an unsuitable match, that he was not a good man. That Narcissa would not be happy with him. How wrong Andromeda had been there, just like she had been about Draco. Even though Narcissa and Lucius’ marriage had been marred by the darkness of two wars and by the hammer blow of a Dark Lord, they had come out stronger and more wholly a union.

“Come, let’s sit,” Narcissa said gently. They were already in the reception room. Narcissa led them over to the ornate regency sofas — green upholstery ringed in a golden frame. The fabric had tiny pixies which danced ever so subtly.

Andromeda plopped herself down without pomp or ceremony. How very Andromeda it was, to ignore all the adornments — not in the usual way of knowing it was gauche to comment upon, but in such a way that said the finery doesn’t matter.

Narcissa bit her tongue, and instead snapped her fingers, summoning their house elf, Talon.

“Yes, Mistress?” Talon chirped cheerfully.

“Tea and sandwiches,” she said.

Talon nodded, and apparated away.

Narcissa looked up to see Andromeda studying her, a wry smile on her lips.

“What is it?” Narcissa said.

“Nothing,” Andromeda responded. She leant back against the sofa, but didn’t wipe the look off her face. “I suppose some things don’t change, do they, Cissy?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You never did have much care for those you considered beneath you, did you?” she said. Her tone was dangerously casual.

Narcissa took a deep breath. Wasn’t some vitriol to be expected, wasn’t it deserved? Narcissa had done things that Andromeda would never do, had done things that even now Narcissa had to bury deep in her subconscious to avoid the guilt from stopping her in her tracks.

But Narcissa had invited Andromeda into her home for peace, and not to be insulted. That she couldn’t go five minutes without twice trying to goad Narcissa into anger, as if they were but children still.

“You might find I’ve changed in many ways,” Narcissa said tersely.

A curious expression passed Andromeda’s face, but before she could respond, Talon appeared with a crack, holding a tray aloft with two hands. He set it carefully on the table before disappearing.

Narcissa took up the teapot, glad her hands weren’t visibly shaking, and began to pour, quickly adding two sugar cubes to Andromeda’s cup.

“I don’t take sugar anymore,” Andromeda said. Rather than waiting for Narcissa, she swept her wand over the cup, charming the sugar out. “Seems I may have changed to.”

Narcissa said nothing, but bit down on the lip of the cup as she drank her tea.

“So what’s it all about, Cissy?” Andromeda said. Her tone was lighter now — not in a false sense that was broad enough to hide many barbs behind, but genuine and curious. Even Narcissa’s nickname didn’t have venom in it this time.

“You never did beat around the bush, did you?” Narcissa said.

“No, I suppose not,” Andromeda said, smirking. “It was a surprise to hear from you. If nothing else, I came out of curiosity and I’d like to have that quenched.”

Narcissa swallowed her hurt pride. Of course, if Andromeda had sent her a letter, she too would have gone out of curiosity more than any loyalty. But still, it hurt in some strange way to know her sister was there merely because her interest was piqued and not out of love or care or worry.

Narcissa took a sip of her tea, and then set the cup down. She smoothed out her robe on her lap, and checked her hair was in place. She took a breath.

“Really Cissy, you have me on the edge of my seat,” Andromeda said, clucking her tongue. “Let’s hear it.”

Narcissa pursed her lips. Why were the words now stuck in her throat like burrs? She could barely breathe around them, let alone spit them out. But she would have to try.

Finally she managed just three words: “Her ashes came.”

Andromeda frowned, but only for a moment, before realisation dawned across her face. Suddenly, the coldness was gone, and it was replaced with something deep and cavernous. Narcissa could not name it, but she recognised it as the same thing that lived inside of her, that had been there since the Dark Lord had returned, deepened by every deed like it must have for Andromeda with every loss.

“Where are they?” she said, and Narcissa could hear the quaver in her voice.

“I can get Talon to fetch them,” Narcissa said softly. Now the words were out, she could breathe again.

“That’s alright.” Andromeda lifted a shaking cup to her lips, took a sip. “Of course. I should have guessed that’s why I’m here.”

“I asked you here because I wanted to know your opinion on what we do with them. You know, I thought about what Bella would have wanted, and I came up blank. I thought perhaps she’d want me to give them to Rodolphus but…”

“That twat?” Andromeda said, with surprising venom. “She’s our sister, and even if he weren’t where he belonged, I wouldn’t let him touch her, not again.”

Narcissa swallowed. It was strange to see Andromeda act the protective older sister. And at the same time, it felt so natural that Narcissa felt as though, if she concentrated very hard and squeezed her eyes shut, she might open them to find herself thirteen again.

“I also thought she might want them scattered near somewhere significant to Lord Vol—“

“Absolutely not.”

Narcissa nodded. That was hardly surprising a reaction.

“Then what do you think would be best?”

When the ashes had arrived, Narcissa had sobbed for hours, only calming after Lucius had gotten home and comforted her with a thousand soothing words.

Narcissa was the youngest and so it was inevitable that she would have had to see at least one of her sisters die before her. But so soon? They were not spring chickens by any stretch, but they were still well within their prime. Even Andromeda, that much older than she and Bella, was barely 60. She had not been prepared for any of this.

“We could scatter her in the gardens of Thorneycroft,” Andromeda said after a moment. Thorneycroft, where they had grown up. “But as meaningful as it might be, might it not be more so to scatter them somewhere that will be convenient for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s little point of us going all the way to Thorneycroft — where we’ll never visit her. But if we scattered them, let’s say, in the gardens here, she’d always be with you. If that’s what you wanted,” Andromeda said and then paused, frowning. “I don’t know what it was like between you by the end.”

Narcissa cleared her throat, but the words didn’t come. More mysterious yet, her eyes prickled with tears. Narcissa didn’t cry in front of people other than her husband, but apparently Andromeda might have been the exception.

“It was difficult. She had grown further and further away from me. When she was here, when they were all here?” Narcissa waved her hands around. “It was awful. But still. At first, she was loving as she was capable of being.”

Andromeda’s lips quirked. She was perhaps the only person who would understand that Narcissa meant it not unkindly. Bellatrix had never been affectionate, not in any way that was comprehensible to other people. All three of them loved so fiercely differently, but all three of the sisters had come to understand each other’s language by heart, like they did the sounds of their tears or the slap of their feet.They could recognise one another’s love even from a great distance.

“But it changed. I don’t know how to explain it,” Narcissa said, and a pinch of the old pain forced itself out with her words. “Even more cruel. If I so much as mentioned I was worried about Draco, suddenly I was doubting the Lord.”

“That was Bella all over, wasn’t it?” Andromeda sighed. She snatched a cucumber sandwich from the tray and nibbled it. “Remember when she pushed me out of that tree?”

Narcissa shook her head.

“You don’t remember it? You would have been — oh, at least seven.”

“I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about,” Narcissa said. “From one of the old apple trees?”

Andromeda nodded. “The one just by the stables. She broke my arm, anyway. I’m surprised you can’t remember. I whinged about it for three straight years.”

“Why did she push you?”

“She was defending you. If I remember it correctly, I called you a coward and threw an apple at your head.”

“You weren’t wrong, I was a coward back then.”

“Anyway, all I mean is that Bella was, if nothing else, one of the most loyal people in the world if she finds”—Andromeda winced—“ _found_ someone to give her heart to. You were that person, until you weren’t.”

“Do you think it might have been different, if she could have just stuck with me?”

Andromeda frowned. She took the last few bites of the small sandwich, and chewed carefully.

“Do you blame yourself, Cissy?”

Narcissa swallowed. She had tried not to think too much on the shame and guilt that built up in her veins like sediment in water.

“I suppose I wonder what would’ve happened if I were more like you and less like Bella,” Narcissa said. She sighed. “But I know it’s all for nowt.”

“Bella always had a cruel streak. And while we might’ve spent a long time trying to curve it, this was the inevitable outcome of it. It’s no more your fault than mine. What would have happened had I stayed? Had I spoken to her? Of course, she wouldn’t have listened to me, nor you. When did she ever listened to anyone, once she’d made her mind up?”

“That’s true… That’s very true,” Narcissa said. All her life, she had fought against Bellatrix’s pigheadedness and stubbornness, and all her life, she had lost.

“So, what would you like to do? Thorneycroft or here?”

Narcissa let out a breath. “You know, as cruel as she might have been, she was still my sister, and she was still always there for me.”

Andromeda flinched.

“Not — I didn’t mean anything by that, Andy,” Narcissa said quickly, but Andromeda was shaking her head.

“I wasn’t here; that’s just the truth. Would you like to do it now? If you want me to be there, of course.”

“Of course I do,” Narcissa said. She patted Andromeda on the arm. “You’re her sister too.”

Something dark clouded Andromeda’s eyes, but it dispersed quickly, leaving wetness behind.

“We can wait for Lucius, if you like.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “You hate Lucius.”

“I know, but I’m not asking him to pop over for tea. If you want his support for this, I’m more than happy for him to be there.”

“No,” Narcissa said after a moment. “It would be nice for it to just be the three of us. Like old times.”

Andromeda gave her a look so profoundly sad that Narcissa had to look away from it and catch her breath. They set down their cups, and Andromeda waited in the hall while Narcissa went upstairs to fetch the ashes from the spare bedroom. She hadn’t been able to stand to look at them, and it was easier to ferret them away.

Finally, she came down the stairs with the jar in hand.

“So that’s her?” Andromeda asked.

It was a smoked black jar with a delicate but weighty glass stopper. It was double the size of a rememberall, and Narcissa had both hands on it, just to be safe. It was strange to know that a person who had loomed so large in their life could be reduced to so little.

They walked in silence down the hallway, threading through the conservatory, and down the three steps into the garden.

The Malfoy Manor grounds were little compared to their childhood home, at barely an acre compared to Thorneycroft’s six. But it had always been plenty for Narcissa. She was not the outdoor kind, anyway. Though, there had been a brief period where she thought she might get into gardening, when she was much younger and attempting to emulate Evelyn Zabini, but that had been over the moment she saw her nails afterwards. A few years later, she’d found out Zabini actually employed a gardener (who she later married) and didn’t prune her own rosebushes, as she claimed, at all.

Before them were flower beds in concentric circles, bursting with colours — anything to replace the drabness and death that the occupation of Malfoy Manor had left behind — and a fountain that was enclosed by hedges in the middle. The hedges extended out into a pattern too, one of tessellating crosses that could be seen from Narcissa and Lucius’ bedroom.

Narcissa led them down the central path, behind the bushes and past the fountain. Once they were out the other side, Narcissa stepped off the path and followed one of the hedges until they were in her favourite part of the garden. It was shaded there, wonderful in the summer for sitting and reading a book. And it was shielded from view of the windows, perfect for an undisturbed quiet rarely found when Draco was young. Lucius had discovered her there while out for his walk once, and she’d feared the end to her privacy. Instead, the next time she escaped to her spot, she found he had installed a small garden swing which she could curl up in and she never again saw him there.

“This is very sweet,” Andromeda said, surveying the scene. “Are you sure you want to do it here?”

“I feel her presence all the time anyway; why not have her keep me company when I’m out here?”

Andromeda looked as if she might argue, but instead, she let out a breath and said; “Would you like to scatter or bury her?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it,” Narcissa said. She looked down at the jar. “I dread to think of her floating, a million little parts that can never be whole again. No. I think I’d rather bury her.”

Andromeda did the honours of spelling a patch of dirt up, with enough room for Narcissa to tip the jar in. She did so carefully and gently, making sure not to catch any wind or spill any on the grass.

She used her own hands to fill the hole back in, replacing the mud that Andromeda had dislodged. It had seemed meaningful before she did it, but as she stood up, she wondered what to do with her soiled hands.

“Give it here,” Andromeda said patiently, taking her hands and casting a spell to vanish the dirt. “You’re still terrible with charms, I take it?”

“Not my strong suit, no,” Narcissa admitted. “There’s just so many. And look, I’ve managed well with my other skills.”

“Oh yes, arithmancy is so useful.”

Narcissa chuckled. “Thank you for reminding me how much you and Bella used to tease me about taking that.”

“It truly boggles my mind that you _willingly chose_ to do it. I remember Dora thought to take it too at one point, I warned her right away.”

Andromeda stopped, and looked off to the side, her eyes clouding. Narcissa stepped towards her, and took her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m so sorry.”

Andromeda nodded, her face pinched. She had cried like this all her life; fighting against the tears, refusing to let them win. That was one thing all the Black sisters had in common. Unless they felt safe, they didn’t want to cry.

And Narcissa was saddened not just by her sister’s pain, but that Andromeda didn’t feel safe enough to share it.

“I heard a rumour,” Andromeda said, so quietly that Narcissa had to lean towards her. “I heard that it was Bella who did it.”

Narcissa’s stomach lurched. “She wouldn’t have done that. Not our Bella.”

“I’ve told myself that. I really have. But then I think: wouldn’t she have?” Andromeda said. Her voice was preternaturally calm and level, though her twisted face gave away her anguish. “They wouldn’t even tell me at first. But a few people saw them fighting right at the end.”

Narcissa wanted to wrap her arms around her older sister, but she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. So she stood, looking at Andromeda’s eyes that shone with tears and putting a hand on each arm to hold her steady.

“But I try to remind myself: that wasn’t her. That wasn’t our sister. Whatever took a hold of her before the first War, whatever twisted her into that unrecognisable shape, it took away whatever essential part of her I knew. We lost Bella decades ago, even if we didn’t know it. This, this is just the ashes of the woman who looked like her. And if it were Bella who killed my daughter — who had just had a _child_ of her own, for Merlin’s sake — then it was that monster that did this, not my sister.”

Narcissa said nothing, only squeezed her arms tighter. She wished she could do more. She wished she could say the right things. But there were depths that she couldn’t wade through, which she didn’t have the map for. All the hurts and all the losses and everything that had happened while they were apart, it was too far for her to walk at that moment.

It was hard too, to hear Bellatrix called a monster. She was cruel, that was undeniably. It was true, too, that she did monstrous things. But Andromeda hadn’t seen her in over a decade — she didn’t know Bellatrix like Narcissa had. And there was some true essence of Bellatrix that had lived up until the end, Narcissa was sure of it.

But this was not the time to argue that.

“I can’t believe all that has come between us,” Narcissa said. A sob escaped her, one she didn’t even know had been lurking behind her closed lips. “It isn’t fair you lost so much.”

“No, it isn’t.” Andromeda’s tone was hard. She sniffed, and blinked away the tears. “No, it really isn’t.”

“If it were me, if she had done that to my Draco, I wouldn’t be out here right now. I can’t imagine what it takes to even mourn her.”

“If it were Draco, you’d never be seen again, would you? You’d be an embarrassing mess and need someone else to pick up your pieces,” Andromeda said, and there was real bite to her words.

Narcissa shrank back, removed her hands from Andromeda, who grabbed them quickly.

“I’m sorry, Cissy. That was — that was uncalled for,” she said. “Sorry. I’m angry at Bella, not you. I miss her — I’ve always missed her _and_ you — and I also wish I could get vengeance for what she’s done.”

Narcissa took a breath. And then another. And then a last, letting the sweet air of the garden fill her lungs. Then she nodded. Though Andromeda had scratched at a part of her that worried always that she is too weak for this world, and too weak to be a good mother, she knew that her older sister was lashing out out of her own pain. Besides which, was she wrong? For Andromeda to lose a husband and a child, both as a consequence for her siblings, though only one directly, was more than Narcissa could imagine. How betrayed she’d felt just at Bellatrix’s insistence on Draco having more involvement with the Death Eaters. To imagine how she’d felt if he had died at her hand was more than she could bear.

“I’m grateful that you did this with me,” she said quietly. “You have a tremendous strength.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Andromeda holding Narcissa’s hand tightly. At last, Andromeda said: “Shall we go inside? It’s getting nippy out here.”

Narcissa nodded, and led them back through the garden. The sun was setting behind them, casting long shadows and giving off that strange early summer dusk that gave a chill to the air. They stamped their way inside.

“I’ll get Talon to bring us another pot of tea.”

“I think I ought to go home,” Andromeda said.

“We could even open a bottle of wine — I have a goblin vintage that’s meant to be lovely. Or you could stay for dinner?” Narcissa felt like a child, tugging at her older sister’s robe for attention as she rattled off the reasons to stay. But she was worried; when Andromeda left, might it be the last she saw of her?

“That’s very kind. Perhaps another time?” Andromeda said. “Hermione is watching Teddy, and I don’t think she probably wants to be relieved.”

“Teddy?” Narcissa asked, frowning.

“Teddy.”

Narcissa tried to search her memory for any name recognition, but none came.

“My grandson?”

Narcissa shut her eyes, the shame hitting her like a hex to the chest. Of course. What a tremendous thing to forget about her own sister.

“I’m so sorry,” Narcissa said. “Theodore, of course.”

It was a flimsy cover, hopelessly transparent, but Andromeda’s face softened nonetheless.

They reached the reception room, where the light was now dim and their cups lay cold on the table. Andromeda moved decisively towards the fireplace. Narcissa hurried to keep up.

“Andromeda,” she said softly.

Andromeda stopped and turned towards her. There would be no other chance. So she wrapped her arms around her sister, and held her tightly. Andromeda did not immediately respond, but then her arms went around Narcissa, and Narcissa could breathe easy at last in her sister’s embrace.

“I don’t want this to be the last I see of you,” Narcissa said, feeling her eyes well up.

Andromeda shook her head into Narcissa’s shoulder.

“We may never fix what is broken here,” Andromeda whispered, “but we will repair what we can. I promise.”

For the first time in a long time, she felt assured by her eldest sister. It was easy to believe her, despite how often Andromeda was wrong.

They pulled back from each other and Narcissa allowed Andromeda to wipe at her wet cheeks, as if Narcissa was a child again being taken care of by her sister.

“Perhaps next time, I could meet Teddy?”

Andromeda’s face lit with a smile.

“I would love that,” Andromeda said, and sounded like she meant it.

“Next week, perhaps?” Narcissa said. She was being overeager, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help but feel how flimsy their connection, and that she needed to concrete it now for fear of losing it.

“I’ll let you know a day and time,” Andromeda said. “Thank you for asking me here, sincerely. Goodnight, Cissy.”

“Thank you for coming, really. And for staying. Goodbye, Andy.”

She watched Andromeda grab a handful of floo powder and step into the fireplace, disappearing in a puff of vile green smoke.

She let out a breath. She had lost one sister this year, that could not be changed, but, perhaps now, she might regain one too.


End file.
